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I know how you feel,

Like a grandmother's old broach

That no one wants but everyone keeps.

A son wearing his father's retired, plaid work shirt,

Hanging loose, fitting him in all the wrong places.

A mouse that runs as fast as it can

But is still caught by the hawk.

A young, troubled, child,

Forced from foster home to foster home.

The fourth straight day of rain after a drought,

Once wanted, now rejected.

The stars in the sky,

After all the city lights have turned off.

I get it. I've felt it too.

It's the little drop of Vaseline on your finger,

No matter how many times you try to wash it off,

It lingers. Repelling everything that might try to break the barriers.

It's the feeling of being too much and never enough,

It's knowing everything and knowing nothing.

It's trying harder than ever before, and still failing.

It's trying to find yourself and only finding

Others.